I have seen a ridiculous number of Ryan Gosling movies for a woman my age.
I have read Fitzgerald, Brontë and Dickens, but (if I’m being truthful) I’d rather curl up with Bridget Jones’s Diary.
I have arthritis in my hands and can feel the weather changing in my hips. TRUTH.
I can still run around the block. Just barely. (Did I mention I live on a hill?)
I feel really guilty if I forget to put wrinkle cream on at bedtime. Because lines.
This forgetting happens practically every night … as long as we’re being truthful.
I’ve been dyeing my gray for a really, really long time. Like … really, really long time.
But I don’t think it’s hypocritical to say I aspire to feel classy enough to embrace it one day.
I load up Spotify in the car, but prefer to spin records at home. (Because being pretentious is awesome. Try it.)
I have seen James Taylor sing “Fire and Rain” live. (Refer to #9, parenthetical phrase, part 1.)
I have also seen Ariana Grande sing live. (It’s called being a cool mom, ya’ll, and she was pretty darn good.)
I know what a Pear Phone is. (Please refer to #11, parenthetical phrase, part 1.)
I make a mean, mean Thanksgiving dinner and my homemade chicken pot pie is to die for. (Yeah, I’ve pretty much nailed comfort food, which has led me to a now annual spring diet … which has come early this year and starts tomorrow. Truth.)
I have ruined more meals than I can count. (And when I say ruined, I mean glass-shards-in-the-rice ruined, curry-so-hot-your-face-will-melt-off ruined, lemon-chicken-so-awful-we-gotta-order-takeout ruined.)
Every time I think life is too hard, I remember that another Justin Timberlake album is just a few years away, and I find the will to live. (This would be much cooler if it weren’t totally true.)
I am younger than Jennifer Aniston, but I am older than Angelina Jolie. Ugh. Truth.
I like to say that I have seen the Louvre and the British Museum, but truthfully I was too young to really appreciate them.
Don’t pity me too much, but at-home pedicures are becoming almost physically impossible. (As of this blog post I can still manage. Just barely.)
I am convinced I am Jason Bateman’s biggest fan. (Hey, did you spend the 1980s writing a pen and paper novel in which you married him and had his babies? Then sit back down, because the grownups are talking.)
That’s what I thought.
I’ve seen so much of the world, it’s hard to count up all the places. But—truth—I don’t care how greedy it is, I still want to see more.
My senior high prom date had “Lady in Red” dedicated me. (The thing is, I was wearing green. Truth.)
Most of my favorite childhood toys are now considered choking hazards. (Oh, Fisher Price. Where did we go wrong?)
I’m convinced I need a colonoscopy. It’s true.
I have the attention span of a fly. (It wasn’t always like this, and that’s the truth.)
My doctor is convinced I’m still too young for a colonoscopy. (Which, honestly, is why I push the issue. Just to hear him say it again … kinda makes up for that one time he informed me I was “getting older.”)
I named my daughter after a Cybill Shepherd character’s nickname. Truth. (You don’t know her? Oh, it’s cute how young you are, but we can still be friends.)
I’m old enough to have never owned a CareBear. (Truth: Young enough to have secretly wanted one.)
I’ve read Harold Bloom, you guys, so it’s really okay if I pick up People magazine now and then. (HAROLD. BLOOM. UGH.)
I have known true sickness. (Truth.)
I have known the blessings of health. (Truth.)
I have dug up change to buy gas. (We won’t discuss when in the 40 years this happened.)
I have thrown away dirty pennies wastefully like an ugly American. (Tell the truth … you have too.)
I think heaven will sound like 16,000 people singing ”Psalm 40″ at a U2 concert.
I think hell is being trapped in a slow drive-thru line—post-order, pre-payment—when you could still pull the plug on the whole thing, if only you could get your wimpy Hyundai tires over that little concrete barrier between you and the rest of the world where people are ridiculously happy, eating and drinking all the stuff they bought in under 70-seconds because they were smart enough to park and walk inside.
I understand that I was blessed to have babies. (Truth.)
I understand that seeing them grow into happy adults will be better still. (I trust this to be true.)
I have known loneliness, friendship, love and—I’m sorry to admit—hate.
I’ve seen enough terrible things to give up on this world.
I’ve seen enough beauty to think another forty years sounds pretty darn good.